Identities
by CyanGalaxy
Summary: They were two people – Anakin and Vader. Two soul entities, two conflicting aligned allegiances, two polar opposing personalities... but, one body... that would make things quite complicated. [AU – Read warnings]
1. A Month

_They were two people – Anakin and Vader. Two soul entities, two conflicting aligned allegiances, two polar opposing personalities... but, one body... that would make things quite complicated. [AU story – Read warnings inside]_

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 **A/N: Warning: Suicidal thoughts, PTSD, character death. This AU is about dissociative identity disorder, in which Anakin and Vader are two personalities, one body. Inspired by the movie 'Split', but doesn't have anything to do with that plot, just the defining topic.**

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"I'm not sick, but still so far away from sane. Nightmares, but I haven't slept in ages." - Former Vandal

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 _The explosion hit._

 _He couldn't move._

 _He realized with gut-churning paralyzing terror that for the first time in all his life, Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, the Jedi's most greatest warrior was frozen solid in a state that was so foreign it was indescribable. He had not a mere_ _ **sense**_ _of free will, as his body had reached it's information overload capacity, or perhaps the amount of soul-tearing trauma that one's brain could process, making Anakin an enslaved prisoner of his own mind._

 _He couldn't breathe anymore, his lungs had become ash, disintegrating just as his conscience seemed to. The phantom feeling of automatic breathing had finally escaped him, leaving his body entrapped, but aware enough that it needed air Anakin was deprived of._

 _It hurt, it burned, the sensation of no longer being provided oxygen made his eyes blur, his head ache and made the scene before him tip dangerously to the side._

 _Air was all around him, he knew that. It was laced with grit and dirt and the putrid smell of metallic blood accompanied by the screaming warning through the Force, left over by the explosion, but he just couldn't_ _ **grasp**_ _any of it. His mind had locked his whole body into place, every functioning bodily necessity – even the ability to intake vital oxygen, something taken for granted, something that he never had the_ _ **need**_ _to think about before – was practically shuting off with his mind still fully coherent._

 _Well, as coherent as one could possibly be in that state._

 _Electric messages throughout his body to his brain were scrambled – there was no way Anakin could tell that his mechno arm was crushed, ripped apart, dangling lifelessly by a few wires and metal fragments, since the nerves wouldn't respond correctly. But the part of his mind that was_ _ **just**_ _thoughts was fully conscious, practically screaming in words that were unable to decipher._

 _He ached for the chaotic, erratic buzz of everything to fade away, for the Force to take him away, as this was the time Anakin truly thought it was all over, the time to stop fighting and rest, the time he'd be free, be with his mom and – and he'd– but..._

 _He'd be with Padmé._

 _He saw, not with his eyes but with the Force sense entwined within the air, and felt the most excruciating feeling his twenty-two-year-old self had ever been exposed to know. The very essence of a fading lifeline connected to his being was shattered, being torn away from the insides of his mind, the air, the living Force._ _ **This**_ _, Anakin knew with as much certainty as he knew is own name, was Padmé's life._

 _It rendered him completely lifeless, real agony only he could feel from the moment the explosive struck, eliminating at least one of its targets._

"Padmé!" Was the sound he registered first, a distant cry in the empty dark that bared in vulnerability and distress – that, before the last couple of weeks he would never had recognised as his own voice.

A vivid memory, laying in a medical bed's medbay days after the battle, Anakin heard uneven frantic breathing, struggling to take a breath just like on Scipio, only accompanied with the high-pitch ear-piecing noise of a spiking heart monitor.

He was confused at first, trapped almost within some kind of bubble that didn't allow his brain to process the current situation correctly. It didn't matter to him, though. There was no pain in this bubble, no terrifying thoughts or memories. He decided this couldn't have been reality then, real life was too much harsher.

He didn't _feel_ anything wrong, and wasn't exactly aware enough to _know_ if anything was wrong – but then, through all the fuzziness and puzzlement, Obi-Wan was somehow present in the scene, looking quite fretful and concerned, more so than in a long time. Anakin didn't understand.

His Master's voice clung in the air like a deranged echo, impossible to comprehend. His little bubble that surrounded him muted all other sounds, but the monitor and the distressed breaths.

It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself through a screen of glass that he realized there was no bubble, nothing protecting him, and he was exposed and there was nothing – he was alone, so alone, Padmé was dead, she left him alone and all he had were the scary thoughts, and the isolation, and the image of her mangled body lying broken and flesh-torn on the ground of Scipio–

And now, he couldn't see straight – couldn't keep the bile down – couldn't breathe all over again for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, hours, minutes it had been –

He screamed.

And then he knew what he sounded like when in totally anxiety.

But by now, Anakin was used to it. He knew the screams in the petrifying void that was sleep were his cries; he knew the whimpers and tears left behind on his pillow and sheets were from his eyes, and he knew the reflection that he barely faced in the mirror anymore was his own pale, isolated look plastered to his own face.

He got better and better at telling when those panic-induced moments or relapses of Scipio were brought on, more frequently, fortunately – unfortunately – _simply_. They were infrequent, sleep-depriving, and mostly in the consciousness of his own dreams, like the relapses had been this night.

 _Honestly, you can deal with it all. It is okay, you will be okay_ – his mind often told him. But, a pretty clear indication that he deceived himself was when the memories now no longer just affected him alone but Ahsoka, too, as she felt too uncomfortable (and scared) to stay in their combined quarters (both Temple and the _Resolute_ ) at night anymore.

He was alone at night then again... And coincidentally or not, the medications prescribed increased.

Frankly, he kind of liked that aspect – the drugs they gave him, to deal with 'trauma', as they said. They made the pain lessen, at least, so that was good. He had a clearer head for the most part – not so fuzzy or drowsy – and it kept his emotions in check, because forbid there be an 'unstable' (as they _also_ put it) Jedi on the battlefield.

One thing was incurable, still, and he'd figure it'd always be. Because nothing he'd ever learnt taught him how to deal with the death of his beloved. Jedi didn't experience grief, loss, pain. There was medicine for the body, but not for the head. He'd known anger and vengeance and the Dark Side when his mother was murdered, but there was _Padmé_ then. _She_ was his lifeline, his consolation... But she was gone, and he was lost, alone.

Silently, he sometimes begged for a sense of comfort in return. Somedays when he felt completely desolate, devoid of peacefulness and losing reality, when he stared into his own empty eyes for too long and wished there was someone there, _he needed someone._

 _ **Lie**_ _,_ his conscience told him harshly – not even his inner thoughts were reassuring anymore. But Anakin couldn't deny that fact, either.

He'd been surrounded by people ever since _that day –_ Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, healers, clone medics. The medics gave him painkillers for his arm, the healers gave him meds for shock, his friends tried to assure him in the best way a Jedi knew how – himself remembering useless repetitions of words Obi-Wan's fragmented voice had whispered continuously as his old master dragged him away from what was left of the battlefield a month ago – but none of them sufficed. None of them were Padmé.

As it always went, now was the part of the night he found himself weeping, trembling, aching for consolation and calmness – and _her_ _love_ – he knew he'd never receive... _Unless_ , the lurking thought in the back of his mind, becoming more vibrant and welcoming each day, whispered pleasingly, warmly up against the cold heartless night. His eyes took to the medication, then the utility knife, then the 'saber, each object offering peacefulness in ways that were so wrong, he was nauseated that he liked the self-bodily-harm ideas so much. All his conscience consisted of was how well each substance or weapon would work against himself.

Some nights he'd go as far as taking the blade just above his flesh, or holding the bottle's worth of pills in his new mechanical hand. It was serene, in the moment, like a pathway to something better than life itself...

But that was before he remembered.

...Remembered that there was a war still left to fight, that there was a Padawan still left to train, and he remembered his and his wife's promise to never let the secret out – even after death (that wasn't supposed to be her's); so he crushed the tablets, cried, then told the medics some unbelievable lie to get new meds... only just to repeat similar thoughts and actions the next night.

This night, however, he was too tired to listen to the voice that whispered, _suicide,_ and too tired and afraid to sleep. He wandered the halls of the _Resulote_ , which wasn't even an unusual thing even before Padmé's death. It was both times an escape, though before Scipio he was only escaping from stress, anxiety; and nowadays it was to escape his own suicidal mind, evade sleep, nightmares, despite rarely sleeping anymore.

His feet guided him to the training room, the automatic lights burning against his irises that were used to the darkness. But the world seemed less isolating with them on, regardless that they were too bright, harsh and painful.

The Force aura around the room swirled conflictingly at his presence, something that he only notice when the air was previously quiet. He wasn't the only one who felt it, either. Ahsoka sensed it always, and that's why she leaves him alone most of the time. Even the clones get a look on their faces' when he enters a room, unaware themselves, but feeling a hint of the darkness Anakin constantly lives with.

He activated multiple training balls, setting them to a high-firing level and whipped out one of the various training 'sabers, ready stance – he didn't trust himself to use his real one.

Tensely, Anakin watched carefully for the first bolt to fire. If he were in battle (which he hadn't been since Scipio), there would be no wait for the firefight to begin, but this ominous feeling of _knowing_ it's coming, but just waiting for the thing to shoot was nerve-wrecking. It was like _knowing for certain_ that something bad was going to happen. And Anakin Skywalker had a choice: to evade the badness if he wanted to, or not – block the bolt, or stand there and get struck – but it was the feeling of totally unprepared wrongness that he hated.

The bolt of energy fired.

Then, soon Anakin was blocking every single one that came his way. So, badness averted, he survived – but then there was the knowing dread of thinking about the _next_ shot to be fired. The setting was set high with multiple training orbs, so mere milliseconds were in between the lasers, but that didn't stop the dreaded feeling through each pause, fire, pause fire.

His movements were not connected, his strikes didn't flow the way he remembered them doing so. The blocks that met each bolt seemed heavy and unsynchronized, it took effort to simply hold the 'saber upright. He physically felt his mind get weighed down as the bolts were harder and harder to keep at bay. His eyes stung, and not from the light or tears this time, but something else. Anakin wondered absentmindedly if this was exhaustion, his body finally rebelling at the lack of sleep and food – bodily needs he never paid much attention to care about.

But the sensation was too different, considering he frequently had and was used to exhaustion by now.

This was more than worrying, and though he had little care for himself or his health, Anakin was afraid – definitely not an uncommon emotion as of late, but more pronounced than typically.

The black edges of his vision made their way fully across his now blurry line of sight, as he faintly felt a new burning awareness back behind the depths of his eyes. He thought he saw fire, maybe, and the ignition of his own blue lightsaber, then... Ahsoka, could it be?

But then the whole thing was all over. He was back in his quarters, sitting quietly on his cot, staring into the mirror at the ghostly figure called Anakin, seemingly forgetting why he ever left this room in the first place. Nothing felt quite normal, but not indifferent to what it felt like earlier.

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 **A/N**

 **Hi c: ... First chapter to another new something I'm writing. If you didn't read the notes at the start, this story will get a bit dark considering the topics it's about. DID or MPD is a main theme, and I have never written about mental illness like this before, so forgive me if I'm wrong about stuff.**

 **Feedback is cool and appreciated, even though this is only the first part x/ I'd like to know what you think, is this too much of a dumb idea? x3**

 **Anyway, updates are totally unpredictable for me. I have barely even planned this fic out yet.**

 **May the Force be with you**

 **-CyanGalaxy**


	2. Distance

"You can't expect me to be fine. I can't expect you to care." - Maroon 5

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" _Anakin_ ,"

For a mere split second, Anakin's whole body shook at the insignificant sound of his companion's stern – and quite frankly annoyed – Coruscanti-accented voice speaking his name. A serge of pure fiery anxiety ran through each nerve, too quickly, too much all at once, like cold adrenaline stinging his veins.

But then he remembered.

He was completely _fine_ and nothing such as panic ever hindered him. The moment of feeble fret that was terribly un-Jedi-like melted as quickly as it was brought on. Too late, he realized that the whole _Resolute's_ command-room's eyes were all on him, then secondly, he fought the cowardly urge to hide from them all.

"Are you paying attention?" Obi-Wan looked clearly disgruntled at his former apprentice, not a hint of concern or worry leaking through his features. That was good, Anakin decided. Nothing on his face must have shown his true previous feelings of minor panic – _nothing to worry about anyway_ , he mentally brushed off, trying to forget. That happened quite a lot lately, never seeming to work, he really should try harder.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry." Came his raspy voice in a reply, hoarse from the minor amount of speaking out loud anymore. His mentor eyed him for a moment more, thinking – judging, maybe, like the rest of the people in the room. This fazing-out thing – a new trait – was infrequent, but increasing, and it felt like everyone always noticed. _He_ didn't even notice. The Force always seemed to get an added heaviness and unbalance when he fazed out, the only reason why the few other Jedi probably hated sensing the additional trepidation to that of just being in his presence; but to Anakin, the Force was never indifferent, never changing. He lived with the distress.

It was safe to say his absentmindedness was more than irritating to Obi-Wan by now, especially during briefings. Yet, Rex, Ahsoka, Yularen were silent – Anakin simply guessed they were too weirded-out to comment.

His Master's gaze trailed back to the holo-image displayed, running a hand over his beard to regain his disrupted thoughts. Anakin contritely watched Obi-Wan mentally push back the thick unease in the room from his own mind, a face he'd seen too much lately and not just on Obi-Wan. He wouldn't speak an atone though, no matter how shameful he felt about his inability to hold up the current mental-shields, and stop the dark webs that were his mind's emotions seep through, effecting the innocent, _light_ souls around him. Such conversations about one's – _his_ – drawbacks were better left unspoken right now.

"As I was saying, Anakin, we'll need you _fast_ in case things go south whist the rest of us are inside the compound." Obi-Wan continued, mostly directing his words to the younger Jedi. Anakin knew most of the mission, at least, he'd been listening up until his brain decided to escape him... He wasn't that _stoopa_ , just a little mindless. Their objective was to locate and free imprisoned clones on Ducoma – A Seperatist owned planet, mining world turned clone prisoner camp after the Seperatist invaded. It was a remote planet, barely populated before the invasion, and with no way to protect themselves, the Separatist conquered without resistance. Of course the Senate would have done something sooner, but there was little they could do once their intel told them the Seps had clone captives being used as human shields, protecting their complex with the endless number of prisoners they had captured.

It was Obi-Wan's job and his mens' job to rescue the prisoners of war, stealthily and without fail. They'd arrive in a cloaked ship, break in, free the clones, break out, call for the Resulote to finish off the place once everyone was safe and accounted for. Yet, since this assignment was completely furtive, their would be no backup, reinforcements, _nothing._

Well, except Anakin... He was their pilot, the only one not advancing into the compound with the others. If things went wrong – which nowadays was the norm – he was their ticket out of Ducoma. Before Scipio, It'd be smarter to have Anakin in the prison with them, even _lead_ the entire mission. But Obi-Wan and others wanted to _ease_ himback into assignments before joining the fight entirely (a fancy way of saying they didn't _trust_ him in battle yet).

A part of him didn't blame the Mind Healers or his Master, though. Not even _he_ trusted himself – he could barely hold his weapon without shaking, could distantly remember the urge to harm himself with it. He couldn't have others depend on him, not when he couldn't depend on himself.

The other part insisted that he was _fine,_ and was even typically angry that he was left alone on the ship, helpless _._ He wasn't a danger to himself – he was perfectly normal – but it's the _others_ that would be in trouble. What if his own men died or his apprentice or his Master, while he sat pointlessly in the seat of a cot-pit? That would mean he would be the only one to make it out alive, and then it'd be Scipio all over again. _Alone, alone, alone_ , his mental voice snarled. That part of him was angry because he was distressing over abandonment that hadn't even occurred. How dare they leave him? He didn't fear his own death, but others' deaths for his own sake... well... It was selfish, but the dead were not alive and living was agony.

Obi-Wan finished saying whatever he was saying that Anakin had already tuned out from. He cursed himself for not focusing again, and put his mentor's words into sentences his brain could process. That weird, _un_ -understanding when it came to speaking basic words seemed to happen frequently – a new added problem for the record that made up Anakin Skywalker. It's why he doesn't do a lot of speaking himself, or tried to read reports unless he has to. He knows it's from the lack of sleep, but the odd thing is, never sleeping before wasn't ever unusual or consequential. Somewhere in his conscience he realized he should probably ask himself when was the last time he slept, but the ability to care eluded him.

The feeling of a warm, gentle hand brush his shoulder, and with startling alertness, Anakin turned his head so quickly it made him dizzy. The alarm bells in his head only quieted once Obi-Wan's blurred face became clearer, and he could at least regain his breath that he didn't realize was irregular.

"Sorry... again." Anakin mumbled, shaking his head and the unreasonable brought on panic away. He let his head hang low, bracing both hands on the display table – his frequent withdrawals from the panic-induced adrenaline made him feel drained, and more so ashamed that the uncharacteristic jumpiness happened too many times to count in this morning alone.

From what he saw out of the corner of his eyes, everyone else was gone, so himself and Obi-Wan were totally alone. He didn't know why he felt cast aside – like the others had ditched him, and his Master was stuck with the burden of helping the broken Jedi once again.

"You're not broken, Anakin." Obi-Wan told him, much softer than Anakin actually expected – unexpected words, too, considering the younger Jedi didn't even speak aloud. "You're shields are weakening." His mentor commented, informatively, at that, because Anakin hadn't realized. He honestly didn't care, though Obi-Wan seemed to. He didn't get why his mentor was so concerned about his inability to conceal his thoughts. Maybe Obi-Wan was just so tired and sick of all the darkness and cloudiness that polluted Anakin's mind. Maybe he was going to leave the room, as well. Maybe he was the last person to walk away. If that was the case, if that reality was the future, Anakin decided he _did_ care.

"I-I... Master, please. I'm Sorry." He didn't stop to realize it was the third time he said that.

" _Anakin_ ," Obi-Wan spoke again, more sternly, but not lacking concern. He was concerned? "Are you alright?" Apparently so. He'd heard those words a lot, so he wasn't sure why he was surprised. Maybe this time they actually held meaning, maybe it wasn't a customary question – with an evasive, repetitive answer, too.

"I think so?" He shrugged instead. "I'm fine for the battle – mission – whatever..." He added bitterly, once realizing that Obi-Wan probably wanted reassurance from his dear, unstable, mentally-absent friend to make sure the one piloting them all wouldn't fly straight into a star or lose control of everything.

Anakin screwed up his face. It may have been a month since he last jumped into a cot-pit, but he wasn't incapacitated, for kriff's sake.

Obi-Wan just sighed, shaking his head. Probably looking down just as annoyed as Anakin felt. But, he stoped himself from biting back further, letting the thoughts of self-consciousness sink deeper from the surface level. Once Anakin realized Obi-Wan might do a totally frustrated move and walk out (something _Anakin_ would've done) – no matter how uncharacteristic of a thing to do for the Jedi Master – Anakin's stomach dropped and he regretted brushing his Master off. He couldn't be alone, not again, not when the battle hasn't even begun, not ever. If Obi-Wan stormed away, Anakin would have no one – not that he really had anyone before – but the physical presence of his Master was soothing. He would be lost without their bond, and the merry-go-round of all his darkly thoughts would be the only thing left. _Insanity_ , he remembered distantly. All brought on because Obi-Wan made the choice to walk out.

No matter how illogical and unrealistic it was, Anakin's brain convinced itself it was true.

"I'm not going anywhere, Anakin." Obi-Wan furrowed his eyebrows, studying Anakin with newfound knowledge from the other Jedi's vibrant, leaking shields. He was more than a little concerned now. From the fragments of information he was receiving, – the distress, the unreliability of others, the certainty of a fake reality unknown to arise – melancholy memories of a dismayed (and then soon sedated) Anakin writhing on a medical bed, half awake, half asleep, trapped in some sort of relapse till unconsciousness took over filled his mind. Time had clearly passed since those first weeks since Scipio, but in that very moment it didn't seem like anything had changed at all. "I am sorry for snapping at you during the briefing." He said with sympathy that the... _old_ Anakin wouldn't have appreciated. The Anakin that was here today... well he was simply too distracted and distanced to care if others pitied him – it was the fear of desertion that was what mattered. He dipped into the Force just a bit, getting a read on the other Jedi's signature that was slowly re-blocking itself. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Uh, I don't know..." Anakin mumbled, knowing where this conversation would lead: useless advice to see the Healers if he told the truth or some lecture on letting go of emotions through the Force if he lied or stayed silent. Though Obi-Wan probably didn't realize any of that himself yet. Sometimes the man was just too much of a Jedi to be a friend, and in Anakin Skywalker's book, one was either one or the other – there were no shades of gray. "I'm just... I feel okay, I think, I'm not sure. But I'm alright to go back _out there_." He even tried to smile, not thinking about anything else, because thinking led to thoughts, and thoughts led to too many bad scenarios his brain could comprehend. "You'll be okay, though?" He added, deliberately changing the subject, careful not to sound too desperate for reassurance.

"Yes, I'm sure myself, Rex, Ahsoka and all the others will be fine." Obi-Wan smiled, too. Wether it was forced or not, he didn't know. but it still was comforting, just a bit.

* * *

Ahsoka waited apprehensively, leaning against her starfighter that she knew she wasn't going to need for this mission. Anakin didn't ignore the way she tampered with the things on it that didn't need fixing, or counted supplies and weaponry nervously, calculating down the time until they'd have to leave. He'd never seen her anxious before, but he mused he wasn't the only one that had changed negatively through – not only the last month, but – the war entirely. Honestly, he hadn't seen much of her at all.

There was a blank spot in his memory where everything seemed to be blocked off, but the memories that lay behind the thickness were almost touchable. Moments of the previous weeks, days even, the sleepless last before night were basically gone. It didn't scare him as much as it should, but when he started to remember things he wasn't sure were real or not, it was extremely confusing... Like, last night, he recalled Ahsoka, briefly, looking at him like she'd seen a ghost, but now his brain couldn't decide if that recollection truely happened. He couldn't concretely say if he went into her quarters or deny that fact either, the same way he was unsure if he consciously picked up his own 'saber in his hands that seemed too steady to be his own. The sensations were almost dreamlike, or well, as _dreamlike_ as one could get without actually sleeping, of course.

"Hey, Snips." He chirped, though it didn't sound quite as jovial as it did in his mind.

She tensed, not noticing her Master's presence through the cold cloudiness that made up the Force, and wrapped an arm around herself when she faced him.

"Oh. Hi, Master." Anakin noticed she hesitated before greeting him back. _Oookay_ , things were... _unstable_ with their friendship, right now at least, but they weren't this bad. _Hmmm_... maybe they were, the duo hadn't talked in a while. "I'm just prepping. I'm glad to be back on the field – finally." Neither brought up the reason why they hadn't been deployed anywhere sooner.

"Me too."

Silence.

Ahsoka scuffed her feet along the ground of the _Resolute_ 's hangar bay, feeling the tension gather heavily in the air. Anakin saw something behind her features unidentifiable, unable to tell what she was thinking – not that he was going to search inside her mind, anyway.

"Why did you come to me, like at 0300 hours or something?"

More unsettling silence followed, with Anakin's puzzled features indicating he had no idea of what she was talking about. "What?"

"Last night, _Skyguy_." She said exasperatedly, drawing out 'Skyguy'. The nickname didn't sound lighthearted. 'Almost mockingly' was a better way to describe her voice. "You started talking to me, acting totally out-of-it. You're telling me you don't remember?"

He tried matching up the uncertain, fuzzy memories of Ahsoka's startled face to connect with reality, but it never happened. The maybe real, maybe not images stayed only distant fragments. But he didn't disbelieve her, either. A part of his mind was calling him to believe this moment was the reality she was talking about.

"Uh... I don't– What happened?"

"You nearly pulled your lightsaber on me, that's what happened." She told him, clearly displeased, but the thought of him doing something like that made the invisible alarm inside his head go off again. She left their shared quarters because she was scared, she looked ghostly last night because she was scared, he was alone now today because she was scared. And he was scared of himself, too.

His face must have betrayed his mind, since Ahsoka was quick to rephrase her words. "No – I mean, it wasn't you. I think you were just sleepwalking or whatever." That didn't make him feel any better, because he knew it wasn't true. Sleepwalking required sleep, and Anakin Skywalker never slept. "Probably 'cause the meds the healers give you."

"Mm..."

"Hey, um, listen. I'm sorry I haven't really... I don't know, _been there._ " She sounded sincere, sorry; though he didn't deserve any of it. The mere picture of her face looking at him with fear, and the feel of his weapon in his hands haunted him. He was haunted by something he couldn't even remember. "Master, I wanted to help. I wanted for things to be okay again, but I didn't know how or what to do. It all changed so... _kriffing quickly._ And I wasn't strong enough _.._." She was talking about Scipio, his recovery, the nightmares. And that's when Anakin forced himself to remember Padmé was Ahsoka's friend, too. And Anakin was her's. They all lost something.

For the first time in ages, he saw a glimpse of what the past used to look like. It was good and warm and nice, but unacceptable.

"Neither was I."

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 **A/N**

 **Uuuhhhh I don't like this chapter. It's real bad. Writers block is real right now. I had no idea what I was talking about. Annndd school started back up again, so that's** **g8...**

 **OML I actually watched Spilt now, and honestly I thought it was shit xD I still like the idea behind it, but I did not enjoy the movie in general... x(**

 **Feedback is most appreciated:D PLZ I need your thoughts on this. ALSO, I know I haven't gotten far at all into the real issues (yet ;) ) but if I get something wrong, or you would like to share information, please do. I'll reply to all! I'm getting my info about DID (which will become more of a theme in the next chapters) from the internet, so bare with me xD My parents are also physiology teachers, so hey, maybe I got another source, too(?)**

 **May the Force be with you**

 **-CyanGalaxy**


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